Waterproof Mascara
by ttfan111robstar1
Summary: Sarah Rogers contemplates her son and all the times waterproof mascara has saved her. One-shot


**A/N: Based off of "Waterproof Mascara" By Sheryl Crow. I own nothing- I'd be rich if I did!**

She stood outside his room for a long time, just watching him sleep. Her son had had another health scare and was finally home. Asthma had sent him to the hospital for two days. She watched his small chest rise up and down. Her son was only six years old. It was a full-time job trying to be a nurse and take care of her son, especially when times were so tough. They barely had enough to eat.

She wondered what Joseph would think if he were alive. Would he be proud of his son? Would he think she was doing well on her own?

Steve was left with the disadvantage of having no male role model. She had to be both Mommy and Daddy to her son, who was already severely picked on for his poor health. She knew she could do well by him- she could still teach him to ride a bike, throw a football, whatever it took to make him happy. She would climb mountains to see him smile.

Sometimes, though, she was the one who needed to smile.

She felt overwhelmed at times, with her job, single parenthood, and her financial struggles. But she kept a smile placed on her face and wore waterproof mascara. Sometimes the stress became too much, and when Steve was away at school and she got home from work early, she'd sit in her rocking chair and cry.

She cried over her husband's death, over the fact that she couldn't provide for her son, and over the fact that she felt like a failure.

She'd sit in a pew on sunday mornings at church and pray to God to get her through the week. She was always thankful for the fact that she had a home, food on the table, and a child she loved more than life itself. She was grateful for the time on this earth she was given, and was glad that she was at least able to give her son something.

She'd instilled morality above all else in him. She knew he prayed every night, always was respectful to his elders, and was kind to those who bullied him. That alone made her a proud mother. She was so grateful that God had given her a miracle child that always seemed to be cheating the odds.

She'd heard the phrase "The situation could be fatal" too many times to count, and each and every time it shot fear through her heart. But each and every time Steve defied the odds and lived. She was a mother to a survivor.

Her little soldier.

He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders at the tender age of six, and still found the strength to carry on. When she was feeling weak, she looked at her son, and found strength again. He was the center of her world, and was the only connection she had left to her husband.

She stepped into the bedroom and planted a kiss onto her son's forehead. Her son was a representation of God at work to her. He renewed her faith when she thought she lost it, gave her hope to a better tomorrow, and taught her things she never would have expected. He was her treasure.

When she found out she was pregnant, she had been so elated and thrilled. She'd written to Joseph to tell him the good news, but the news was quickly tempered by the knowledge of Joseph's passing.

At first she'd been so angry and mad at God. How could he let this happen?! He blessed her with a baby then took away the man she loved? It wasn't fair. She'd planned the funeral herself and held a private ceremony for herself and then week-old son. There had been a funeral shortly after his passing that she'd attended, but she wanted her son to have the chance to meet his father, even if it was in a small way. She'd never forgotten how Steve had reached out to the flag she'd been given and gripped it in his tiny fist. It was as if he understood that that was what was left of his father. She'd settled him down for a nap, and sat there crying for a good two hours.

She'd never felt so helpless as she did that day. Fortunately for her, she had a wonderful church family who had given her diapers, bottles, and old clothes whenever she couldn't afford to care for him. He'd been three when she finally got that job as a nurse. She'd put him in day care and went off to be a working mother. In truth she'd never pictured herself as a working mother. She'd always pictured herself as a housewife, but she would do whatever it took to provide to her child.

As he'd gotten older, he'd proved himself to be an extremely inquisitive child. She had known he would ask her the question she'd dreaded, and when he was four, he'd asked.

"All my friends have Daddies. Mommy, how come I don't have one?"

She'd swallowed, her throat going thick and she felt tears trying to force themselves into her eyes, but she maintained her composure.

"You do, sweetheart. Daddy just doesn't live here. Daddy lives up in heaven with Jesus."

Steve had frowned, puzzled, and asked: "Can't he come and visit?"

She felt her eyes well up, but she didn't let the tears fall. "I'm afraid not, sweetie. Heaven doesn't have visiting hours. But you know what? Daddy would be so proud of you. I know it." She finished with a smile, and kissed his forehead. Satisfied, he'd gone off to play, and she thanked God once again for waterproof mascara.

She made her way up from the bed, pausing when she heard him stir, fearful of waking him. She smiled when she saw him shift so that he was facing her. His tiny eyes were shut, jaw slack with sleep and hair tousled on the pillow. She forgot how innocent he'd looked when he slept. Every time he'd been in the hospital, he'd always had nightmares. It was good to see him peaceful again. She was happy to see him happy. She inched toward the door, almost regretfully, wanting to watch her child sleep forever, but deciding that sleep would be a better option for her.

She made her way out of the room, thinking about how many times she'd thanked God for waterproof mascara.


End file.
